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Editor’s Note: austinwoman columnist and local legend Mary Gordon Spence was last sighted at coffee one recent Wednesday morning, where we discussed ideas for her column. Her stunning red and gold chandelier earrings were a perfect complement to her outfit and turned more than a few heads. To contact Mary Gordon, email her at mg@askmarygordon.com.
Although getting her ears pierced didn’t make her more exotic, it did lead Mary Gordon Spence on the road to riches.
It’s been about the earrings since I can remember.
My daddy’s family, who lived in the border town of Eagle Pass, would occasionally send beautiful pairs of tiny gold earrings to my household in Central Texas. My mother shrieked each time we unwrapped them, declaring that her young daughter was not getting her ears pierced. In the 1950s, every self-respecting young girl had her ears pierced in Eagle Pass; no self-respecting young girl had her ears pierced in Brownwood. The holes-in-my-ears debate between my parents continued for many years. My mother, who said I had to wait until I graduated from high school to poke holes in my ears, always won. My daddy, however, looked forward to the day that I could wear those tiny gold earrings from his sister.
That day never came. For by the time I did get my ears pierced, the baby earrings were too small. As my high school graduation neared, however, I bought my very own earrings and carried them around in my purse. It was late one early June evening as I drove by my doctor’s office, and seeing the lights on; went in. Dr. Snyder was still there, so I asked him to pierce my ears. “What does your mother say, Mary Gordon?” he wondered. I assured him it was ok.
Dr. Snyder then told his nurse Allee to bring him a needle, a cork, alcohol and a tourniquet; he told me to lie down on the examination table. I was already scared, but the mention of a tourniquet gave me the shakes. “Why do you need a tourniquet?” I asked him. “If there’s excessive bleeding,” Dr. Snyder explained, “we’ll need to put it around your neck.”
It took me a minute to get the joke, and during that time he quickly and quietly shoved a needle in each of my earlobes and inserted the little (fake) gold posts into the waiting holes. “All done,” he said as he hugged me good-bye. “My graduation present to you.”
Getting my ears pierced taught me lots of things. The first one was that I should have bought some genuine gold earrings instead of the cheap ones I picked up at the drugstore. The second thing I learned was that I did not become more exotic after the piercing, as I had anticipated. The third thing I learned was that my mother and daddy had to find something else to debate, since the issue of my ear piercing had been settled. I also learned that as soon as I left for college, my mother got her ears pierced as well. It took her a few tries, however. The new doctor that had set-up practice several blocks down the street turned out to be a psychiatrist and was unable, or unwilling, to pierce Mother’s ears the day she popped in. She ended up getting Dr. Snyder to do it.
My daddy was happy with both piercings. I think his love affair with earrings began that year. That’s when he started bringing home earrings for Mother; that’s when he started sending me earrings in the mail.
My mother, reared in McAllen, a south Texas town also close to the Texas-Mexican border, had a fondness for tasteful and classic jewelry, especially earrings. She liked real gold and real silver. As far as my daddy was concerned, earrings couldn’t be bold or brassy or fake enough. My mother called his taste “tacky” and “gaudy.” Daddy called it “festive.”
Daddy was always on the lookout for castoffs or broken earrings, and he would bring them home to Mother. She unceremoniously threw out the worst of them. Occasionally, to humor Daddy, she’d wear a pair – after soaking them in alcohol for a while. Sometimes she must have added something stronger to the alcohol, for after a good soaking, the finish and color of the earrings would come right off. Daddy would try to touch them up with Magic Markers. Mother refused to wear them.
In earnest, Daddy began his earring crusade some 15 years ago. Every Saturday morning, after their ritual breakfast at McDonald’s, Daddy would take Mother home and make the garage sale rounds in Brownwood. Sometimes he brought home something of worth; every time he brought home earrings. He would sort them and bag them and put them into baskets. On Sunday mornings, he’d select a few pairs and pass them out to the little girls at church. Every time I went to Brownwood, he’d pull out the baskets and insist that I choose a pair to bring back to Austin. Mother would roll her eyes as he did this, but I played along. To Daddy’s great pleasure, I would “ooh” and “ah” over his stash of treasures, trying to decide which ones to keep for myself.
Several months ago, we began to clean out my parents’ house – the house that they built in 1954, the house where I have slept in the same room for the past 55 years. My daughter, son and I loaded up a big U-Haul with furniture and look-pretties that have been in my family for generations. (Mother died more than 10 years ago, and Daddy, who lives at an assisted living facility, won’t be going back home.) As we were cramming the remaining boxes into my car, I remembered the pink basket filled to the brim with earrings. How had I missed it as we had combed the house?
I ran back inside, and while plowing around in the bottom of a deep drawer, I found Daddy’s treasure stash. The pink basket, plus more! I put everything into a huge garbage sack and plopped it on the front seat next to me in my car.
If you’ve happened to run into me on a Wednesday morning during the past five months, you certainly couldn’t have missed the earrings I’ve been wearing. They’ve been big. They’ve been gaudy. They’ve been festive. It takes me much longer now to get ready for the 7 a.m. meeting of the Metropolitan Breakfast Club than it used to. I’m up at 5:30 every Wednesday, trying to match a pair of Daddy’s earrings with one of my outfits. So far, things have gone great. I think I can go a year or so more before wearing the same pair twice.
Some people inherit property from their parents; others inherit great wealth. Although I am not financially set as my daddy’s daughter, I am set with enough riches to last a lifetime. I can’t think of a better legacy for a festive man to leave his festive daughter than a pink basket full of wonderful memories and festive earrings.